Sunsets
by AnnieF1229
Summary: Draco ponders what intrigues him about the Weasley girl. Companion piece to Observations.


Partner story to Observations

Ginger. Ugh. The mere name of the ingredient calls up images of the Weasley clan, all packed into Flourish and Blotts the summer

before second year. Draco unscrewed the cap on the container and sprinkled a small amount atop his simmering potion. The vapors

emanating from his cauldron immediately turned a bright red as the instructions described. He smiled smugly to himself to himself as

he placed it in his vial and stoppered it. Top marks again. There was no doubt in his mind. Professor Snape picked up the vial Draco had

just placed on his desk, nodded once, and dismissed him without saying a word. The bell rang and Draco gathered his things, pushing

past Potter, Granger, and the Weasel on his way out the door.

Later that day at lunch he was laughing with Blaise about the garish shade of purple that Crabbe's potion had turned in their Potions

lesson. He had just started to mimic Crabbe's flailing arms and flabbergasted expression when he caught a glimpse of red from the

corner of his eye. Ginny Weasley was making her way down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. She sat down next

to Granger and her hair swung down in front of her shoulder. Draco watched her throw her head back laughing, watched as the sun

cast a glow around her, before he realized he was staring and stopped. He turned back to his own table's conversation and tried to block

her out.

He hadn't spoken to Ginny Weasley since the day she had cornered him in that dungeons corridor and asked why he kept watching her.

Incidentally, he had never spoken to her before that moment either, really. He had been trying his best to ignore her, and had been

doing a good job too, until this moment. It had been almost six months since his embarrassing display of emotions, and yet, each time

he saw the Weasley girl he felt a twinge of angst and anger at the spectacle he had made of himself. What would his father think to

hear him admitting that he dwelt on the comings and goings of the youngest Weasley? He stood up to leave the Great Hall and as he

did so he felt eyes upon him but dismissed the sensation.

Later that evening, he was walking towards the Quidditch pitch for practice by himself as the rest of his teammates were dawdling in

the common room. He preferred to be early to practice anyway so that he could get in a few laps around the pitch by himself before

their drills started. Walking with his head down to watch his step he didn't realize that the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was making

their way up the path towards him until they were close enough that he could hear their laughter. He gave his trademark sneer in their

general direction partnered with a taunt of, "Potter, Weaselbee" and continued on. As he lowered his head back to the path he was

caught off guard by something in his peripheral vision. Red. That was his first thought as he saw Ginny's hair flying behind her as she

ran to catch up to the team. She was sweaty, still covered in mud, and her hair was wild as it streamed along behind her but Draco

couldn't help but think that it was striking. She slowed down as they crossed paths and gave him a small smile before continuing to

pursue her team.

After changing in the dressing room Draco took to his broom and started to loop the pitch. As he proceeded around the goals his

thoughts began to wander back to the encounter with the Weasley girl. Something unnerved him about it and he didn't think it had

anything to do with their previous encounter. Granted, since that day in the dungeon she would always offer a sad smile in his direction

whenever she found Draco watching her, but this felt different. Before he could continue his musings the rest of the Slytherin team

showed up and practice began. Flint tossed him a Quaffle and as he went to pass it on he found himself staring at it. Red. The Quaffle

was red. And that's when he realized what had been bothering him about the Weaselette earlier. Her hair was red, not ginger like the

rest of the Weasleys. Ron's hair was bright and alarming and those twins looked like matching Christmas baubles, but the girl's hair was

different. He tossed the ball to the next player who carried it down to the opposite goals leaving Draco to bob in mid air.

Her hair was distinct. It didn't conjure images of glossy fruits and candies. It was more subtle, like it was one of the colors that made up

a perfect sunset. He shook himself awake at that thought. Sunsets? What is wrong with you, Malfoy? She is a Weasley and therefore

you shouldn't think about her hair except to know that it's a feature that distinguishes her inferiority. He knew it was the truth, knew it

was just the hair that intrigued him about her, and nothing else. He nodded repeatedly as if convincing himself and continued practice

without any other inner-monologue interruptions.

He showered in the locker room and changed back into his robes. Climbing back up the hill to the castle he realized that he had left his

schoolbag and doubled back to grab it. He waved the others on and turned around and had to shield his eyes against the blinding

setting sun. His eyes adjusted and as he looked out over the Quidditch pitch he noticed how the oranges and reds blended together to

create a beautiful scene. With a small smile lingering on his face he began bounding down the steps.


End file.
